Summer Night
by maryalicesmith
Summary: A hot restless night...consequences...deju vu...
1. Chapter 1

Summer Night

It was after midnight and Neal Caffrey couldn't sleep even though the mechanical roar of the traffic below usually proved a reliable antidote to his frequent insomnia. The sticky humid heat of the New York summer night felt stifling as he tossed restlessly on top his rumpled ivory silk sheets, his antique bed squeaking under the strain of his weight shifting constantly. Neal's taut, damp, muscular body was dressed only in the lightest cotton pajama bottoms; his exposed smooth skin glistened under a fine mist of sweet-smelling sweat sparkling in the green sliver of light radiating from the tracking device locked onto his left ankle. The thick anklet provided the only illumination in the room and it reflected itself ominously in Neal's wide open blue eyes shining feverish black in his stuffy upstairs apartment.

Peter would not take his phone calls, would not allow him back in the FBI offices, would not respond to his anguished, heartfelt apologies, even those sent humbly through his wife Elizabeth. El, at least still spoke to him, but Neal heard the pity in her voice and the sound made his skin crawl with embarrassment. For the thousandth time he cursed himself for his mindless, selfish, stupidity. He could not forgive his actions in betraying Peter's trust and apparently neither could the furious FBI agent. For a week Neal waited anxiously for a pounding on his door signaling their deal was over, waited for the NYPD to rush into his apartment, lock him into handcuffs and haul his ass back to prison.

Yet the only person to knock on his door was Elizabeth holding a pot of warm chicken soup, as though he were just suffering from the flu and all would soon be well. Neal could barely look Elizabeth in the face and their visit consisted of him staring down at his hands, nervously twisting in his lap, as they talked softly, seated on his brown leather sofa next to his bookcase. It was only when El reached out with a comforting palm and cupped his thin face in her hand that he dared glance into her concerned eyes, even then he did not feel the hot tears flowing down his stubbled cheeks onto her fingers.

"Peter is a fair man," Elizabeth assured him confidently. "He'll get over it. Give him time, Neal."

How much time? He yearned for the warmth of their friendship so acutely it was a physical pain in his chest that never eased. Kate was gone - and now Peter as well. Would he ever look at another FBI case file? Would he and Peter ever plan another con to con the con? Would his life ever return to his new normal of the past year? Or had he totally screwed everything up this time? Was there no way back?

As Neal's digital clock turned to 1:00 a.m., his FBI Blackberry rang for the first time in a week, causing him to jump. He reached over to his night table and plucked the dancing device up quickly, studying the unfamiliar phone number with anxious consternation. Who could be calling him this time of the night?

"Hello?"

"Mozzie just woke up, thank God. He's asking for you." It was Peter's tired voice, husky and low, laced with immense relief mingled with clip, lingering anger. But he called. That was everything.

"Can I see him, Peter? Please, I beg you. The hospital is outside my radius…" Neal's former pleas to go outside his two-mile zone to visit his oldest friend in the hospital had fallen on deaf ears. Even his plaintive pleas to Elizabeth to intercede for him had not moved Peter to grant him the dispensation.

"Get here as quick as you can. I've called the marshals and okayed it. Diana will pick you up in 15 minutes. Be waiting outside."

"Thank you, Peter," Neal replied gratefully. But the connection was already dead. Peter seldom bothered with a 'good-bye' in the best of circumstances and Neal had grown accustomed to this FBI quirk. He jumped out of bed, reaching to turn on his bedside lamp, flooding the room with soft yellow light. Quickly Neal yanked a clean white t-shirt from a nearby open drawer, pulled it over his tousled head and then snatched a pair of worn blue jeans off the floor, absentmindedly pulling them on over his pajama bottoms. The annoying anklet was forgotten in his rush to get ready and in a matter of minutes he was taking the stairs two at a time down June's ornate staircase then pulling the heavy front door open as harsh traffic noise flooded his ears.

Waiting in front of June's house for Diana to drive up, Neal paced back and forth impatiently. The hopeless fog engulfing his mind the past week was lifted and he faced the imminent arrival of the stern Diana with blissful calm. Neal knew the young agent's personality well, her anger was explosive while Peter's simmered. A good tongue-lashing from her and they'd be friends again. It'd be a small price to pay for a relationship restored. Peter would take much longer, his emotions ran deep and Neal knew the FBI agent was acutely hurt. Mozzie was awake. Peter called him. All would be well. It was only a matter of time.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter Burke sighed deeply as he pulled a cracked blue ballpoint pen from the cluttered kitchen drawer of his cozy little house and leaned over the shining red-tiled counter to sign the single sheet of paper in front of him with a quick flourish of his hieroglyphic signature. The afternoon sun filtering through the rustling maple tree in his back yard cast shadow-puppets through the window, splashing over the page of bond stationery with it's five lines of double space Courier 12 font printing beneath the colorfully embossed FBI seal. Quickly Burke folded the paper once and then again before stuffing it into the inside left pocket of his new silk-lined brown suit. He paused for a moment, staring out the kitchen window as a kaleidoscope of memories cascaded in front of him, so close he knew if he lifted his hand he could reach out and catch one. But he remained very still, the few lines on his face softening as a single tear rolled slowly down his cheek and onto his crisply ironed shirt, narrowly missing the thin green tie that Elizabeth recently bought for him. He shook his head, then squared his broad shoulders, turning from the kitchen counter just as the front door bell rang.

Sucking in his breath sharply, Peter steeled himself. He could remember hard moments in his FBI career but this one challenged them all. The special agent slowly made his way to his front door, pausing a moment before reaching over to grab the door's cold stainless steel handle covered with golden overlay.

Neal Caffrey stood awkwardly on the other side, shuffling his feet, and staring, with great intent, at the flowerbed of fading summer annuals now on their last hurrah. He turned to smile shyly at Peter when the door creaked opened. The FBI agent held out his hand with a grin and Neal reached out and shook it. He could not remember shaking Peter's hand before but it seemed appropriate now. How bizarre he thought to himself as he stepped into the cool air of the little house which smelled comfortingly of Peter's wife, Elizabeth. Neal immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck pop to attention as he passed Peter and he noted the reaction with concern.

Peter waved Neal into his living room and the younger man chose his favorite place, the end of Peter's plush sofa. Their first minutes passed politely as the two men exchanged pleasantries, both agreeing it was wonderful Mozzie was leaving the hospital in a few days and yes, Thursday would probably be the better choice as Tuesday was so drafty. Neal's alarm grew at this uncharacteristic chit-chat. No sight of Elizabeth, even Satchmo was gone. Peter seemed relaxed but there was an odd stiffness to his mannerisms that puzzled Neal. Again Neal started to apologize for his behavior of two weeks ago, but Peter waved his words off and seemed to have no interest in hearing the 'I am sorrys' again.

Having exhausted their small talk, Peter and Neal sat silent for a moment, each of them alone with their thoughts. It was Peter who broke the silence. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his overstuffed armchair, looking Neal in the face for the first time, his head at a slight tilt.

"Neal, you've been an immense help to me - to the Bureau - in the year we've worked together. I have the best arrest and conviction rate in White Collar and the 3rd best rate in all of FBI New York. I couldn't have done it without you."

If Peter had said, "Neal, I am going to take this paring knife here and cut off your fingers one by one," Neal would not have been more frightened. A cold chill sped up his spine threatening to freeze his barely functioning brain.

"Peter -," he began, but was interrupted by the agent's raised palm.

"Don't, Neal," Peter ordered abruptly. "Brilliant as you are, brave as you are, as much as I care for you - and I do, more than you know - a CI cannot wave stolen guns around. You're a felon - you're forbidden to even touch a gun. You masterminded the break-in of a Federal agent's home. You stole a key from a Federal Marshall to illegally remove your tracking anklet. The list goes on and on. I've tried everything - you just won't stop."

"You're sending me back - aren't you?" It was not really a question at this point. Neal leaned back on the sofa, his body relaxing noticeably. It was the unknowing that drove him crazy; now that he knew - well, he would deal with it.

"For now."

"For now?" Neal repeated, puzzled.

"You're not ready to be out yet, Neal. I thought you were. This has been a learning experience for me, too. It was too soon. Until you make peace with Kate's death - prison is simply the safest place for you. I realize that's hard to hear."

A lifetime of practice hiding his emotions served Neal well at this moment and he looked up at Peter with a smile. "No problem, I understand."

"Neal…"

"Can I say 'good-bye' to Mozzie? He's going to need someone to look in on him from time to time. Could you see to it?"

"Of course, Neal. El and I have grown quite fond of him. You know that."

Neal nodded, he did know that. It would give him one less concern in prison. His blue eyes darkened as the first part of his question was answered when Peter reached back slowly and removed a pair of handcuffs from the back of his leather belt.


	3. Chapter 3

The instant coffee was as bad as Neal remembered and the fact that it always arrived tepid and muddy didn't help matters. The ancient battered circular tin cup with its' sharp curved handle allowed the coffee to cool off as soon as it was poured and by time it made its' way down to Neal in Isolation (aka The Hole), in company with its' meager companion of bread smeared with a near invisible swish of peanut butter, it had long since turned into something an inquisitive person might find at the bottom of a New York sewer. That the coffee was accompanied by a small envelope of powdered creamer was a testimony to the rapidity with which Neal befriended the only person allowed in his life now – a young black Correctional Officer, newly hired at the prison, assigned to the unenviable day shift in The Hole. Naturally friendly, the young man found his new charge, said to be an FBI informant, charming and charismatic and on more than one occasion he lingered to talk with him, against policy. The CO wondered if the minor infraction of a smuggled packet of coffee creamer or a few minutes spent shooting the breeze with the inmate might not get him into trouble but he had quickly fallen under the spell of the friendly young man sitting in cell block #5 and so he put his worries aside and continued to provide the only bit of distraction in Neal's long and boring days.

Neal Caffrey was initially relieved to be put in Isolation on return to the prison he'd assumed he left behind for good. He knew he was well-known among his former cohorts as a FBI CI and he dreaded reentering the general population as he doubted his life would be worth much. But upon being shoved unceremoniously into the small windowless cell of The Hole with the 12" impenetrable steel door, the crazily cracked cold concrete floor, the bare iron cot with its' thin worn mattress stuffed with god-knows-what and the threadbare greasy woolen blankets, he had second thoughts. The silence was so loud it hurt his ears and sitting down carefully on the bed Neal felt the sharp bent springs digging painfully into his butt. His few possessions were thrown in after him, hitting the wall opposite before the heavy door was slammed shut followed by a series of beeps and clicks as the guards assured themselves it was secure. They'd been warned "what Caffrey was capable of" in no uncertain terms. Lose Caffrey, lose your jobs –your pension, and oh yes, any hope in hell of finding another position. You'd be damned lucky if you didn't end up behind bars yourself.

Exhausted, Neal wondered how he would get to sleep without the familiar noise of New York under his window, but he laid his lanky body down on the narrow hard cot anyway, pulling the odorous flimsy blankets over his yet again - orange jumpsuited clad frame. Neal began to replay the recent events in his mind, trying to figure out where he had gone so wrong, but sleep unexpectedly overtook him. Neal slept that night, all the next day, and into the next night until the COs began to wonder if there was something amiss with their new prisoner although his regular snoring allayed their initial fears. They'd never seen anyone sleep for so long. Neal would awake occasionally, wolf down whatever meal had appeared (no matter how distasteful), drink glubs of water, use the "facilities", such as they were, and collapse back onto his cot again. Moments later he was snoring so loudly many of guards attained a new appreciation for what their wives put up with.

On the evening of the third day Neal awoke feeling better than he had in years. His mind was oddly clear - what a fool he'd been! His emotions, now calm, he looked back at the prior week in horror, nearly disbelieving he betrayed Peter. It all seemed so far away. He tried to concentrate but he was ravenously hungry and began to wonder when his next meal would arrive. He would happily have shaved his head for a cup of expresso from that cute little coffee shop on the way to the FBI offices. His mind went to Peter, Diana, Jones. Shouldn't go there, he warned himself. Can't undo the past. Think of something else. He tried to think of his – June's – apartment but that also proved to be a bad idea. Mozzie? No, not good either. After a few moments he came to the conclusion that 9/10ths of his former life was off limits unless he wanted to feel totally miserable.

Eventually a cold dinner of sliced bologna, white bread, cheddar cheese, milk, and an orange past its' prime appeared through the hatch and Neal gobbled it all down in under 5 minutes, finding the meal oddly tasty. Neal decided to pursue more food (nothing ventured, nothing gained) and started loudly pounding with his fists on his barred door until the young guard peeked through the hatch and Neal plaintively asked if there was any more food to be had. He wasn't picky. Anything at all? The young CO glanced uneasily down the hall, left and then right, before pulling a Snickers bar out of the pocket of his new blue trousers and pushing it through the hatch. Neal thanked the guard profusely and settled back on his hard cot to savor his dessert, slowing unwrapping the chocolate bar inch by inch, revealing it's rich brown color and sweeping swirl; he took a deep sniff before biting into a corner, his eyes closed, his body limp. Nothing ever tasted so good and Neal asked himself why he had never eaten a Snickers bar before. It was an incomparable delicacy and should be on the menu of the finest restaurants!

The next few days settled into a dull, mind-breaking routine and Neal began to wonder how he was supposed to hold on to his sanity stuck with nothing to do and only his churning dark thoughts, and an occasional brief visit from the friendly guard, to keep him company. Neal had grown used to working on cases with Peter, using his intelligence and creativity to figure out cons; he loved working at the Bureau. Neal was social by nature, a requisite of a good con man and to be alone like this was punishment scarcely to be borne. The painful novelty of being back in prison wore off quickly but to imagine living through three years "plus change" of this was overwhelming. He would be totally mad long before he was released. Did Peter have any idea what this was doing to him? Or did the FBI agent simply not care? Maybe Neal had burned one too many bridges for Peter to have any interest in trying to connect with him again. The mere fact he couldn't call Peter up and talk to him when he felt the need was frustrating. What was Peter doing now? He imagined he and Elizabeth having dinner at their kitchen table, Peter talking about his day at the Office, his latest case. Just imaging the scene broke Neal's heart.

Shortly after 'breakfast', soon after the next long boring day was getting started, Neal, seated on the floor, was pondering how the feng shui of his cell would be affected by moving his cot from one wall to the opposite one, he heard a flurry of crunching creaking noises as his thick door was pulled back, revealing the kindly young CO.

"You've got a visitor!" the guard announced, a broad smile on his dark face. He stepped aside to reveal a rumpled Peter Burke in greenish black trenchcoat over his, not so new now, brown suit. Neal jumped to his feet, his blue eyes wide open in disbelief. Never so happy to see anyone in his life, he ran the short distance and threw his arms around the FBI agent who shrank back in alarm, the young guard accompanying Peter reached out to brace him just in time to keep Peter from falling.

"It's only been a week, Neal. Calm down," ordered Peter but he found himself also wrapping his arms around a noticeably thinner Neal and giving him a tight hug. After a few moments, Peter reached up to extricate himself from Neal's vice-like grasp. Glancing around, Peter cracked with a grin, "I love what you've done with the place."

Neal reluctantly released his hold on Peter and stepped back allowing the FBI agent to step further into the cell and the CO closed the heavy door, locking them both in. Gallantly, Neal motioned Peter to the cot while he himself lowered his body down to the cold concrete floor, leaning his back against the wall. "I can't believe you came!" Neal said delightedly, still not able to accept the evidence of his eyes. He stared at Peter as though he were a mirage. Peter gazed around the barren room and finally brought his eyes back to Neal. He couldn't help but smile although he resolved to be very tough. This was going to be harder than he thought with a grinning Neal gazing at him as if he were a vision.

"Is this how you want to live, Neal?" asked Peter with more gruffness than he felt.

"No, no, Peter!" said Neal. "I am so sorry for picking up that gun at the antique store. I actually walked away but then came back. And I am sorry for telling Alex to break into Diana's apartment. My mind was – obsessed. I don't know what was wrong with me. I loved Kate; I will always love Kate. But that wasn't love…"

Peter noticed Neal did not apologize for terrorizing Garret Fowler but that was probably too much to hope for. "And now?" asked the FBI agent, tilting his head to look at his CI with more than a bit of skepticism. He hated putting Neal through this and Elizabeth still was barely speaking to him but Neal needed to understand what was at stake if he didn't shape up - incarceration, perhaps for the rest of his life. Hughes would not allow another slip up like the last one.

To Neal's credit, he didn't answer immediately. He was smart enough to guess Peter was probably here to take him home and that he would have to screw up really bad to throw a monkey wrench into the FBI agent's plans but for once in his life Neal struggled to be honest, unfamiliar territory though it was. "I don't know, Peter. I feel different. Maybe it was prison, maybe all the sleep I've had since I've been here, but everything looks different."

"How so?"

"I am not going to lie and tell you I'll always follow the rules – you know better than that. But I will give you one promise. I won't betray you again; I don't know why I did that and it's the one thing that has haunted me the most. The possibility that our – friendship – could never be the same, that's been the hardest to deal with. You've never let me down and for me to – "

"It will take time to heal that wound," said Peter bluntly. He didn't add that his personality was such that forgiveness came hard and his tendency to hold a grudge was one that Elizabeth often pointed out to him. Well, he too could make some changes, though unbeknownst to Neal.

Neal nodded in acceptance; he didn't blame Peter for any lingering hurt he felt. He opened his mouth to speak when Peter stood up abruptly, taking a brown paper package out from under his coat. "Here are some clothes, get changed to we can get out of here" and with that he tossed the package over to Neal who grabbed it with a perfect catch. As Neal jumped up and eagerly started to pull off his orange jumpsuit he reached into the paper bag for his clothes. Peter studied the release papers he brought along to free Neal. If he and the warden hadn't been buddies since high school, he'd never had the chance to pull off this object lesson for Neal. God, I hope this works, he said to himself. I am out of options.

Peter knocked-knocked on the cell door and it opened quickly. The young CO was still smiling with curiosity as Neal exited the cell dressed in his own clothes, looking like a totally different man. Peter pointed Neal down the hall and then paused for a moment to slip a few $100 bills into the surprised CO's hand while whispering his thanks to the open-mouthed guard.

Neal could not get out of the prison fast enough and nearly galloped to Peter's car when he spied it in the prison's parking lot. The grin on his thin face spoke volumes. "Are you taking me to June's?" asked Neal excitedly, his blue eyes sparkling in the sun coming in through the car windows.

"No," said Peter. "Elizabeth insisted that I bring you home with me so she could fatten you up a bit. That OK with you?"

"Totally," replied Neal, leaning back in the comfy passenger seat of Peter's Ford Taurus. He always loved Peter's house.


End file.
